


Unbroken

by shiphitsthefan



Series: Ash & Antlers [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Anal Sex, And Both Are Extremely Confused, Asexual Hannibal, Asexual Will, Bloodplay, Explicit Consent, Fairy Tale Elements, Gray Asexuality, Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Monster sex, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Will, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03, Rimming, Wendigo Hannibal, Will Is Murdersexual, Will Loves Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 04:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8432443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: Will and Hannibal survived their Becoming. Now, fate and biology are working in tandem to transform them further.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy _actual_ Halloween! Here's the first chapter of my very first A/B/O fic to celebrate. :D
> 
> This was written for both [Hannigram Acethetic](http://hannigramacethetic.tumblr.com/)'s [#FrightBite](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/HannigramAcethetic_FrightBite) and [Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive](http://http://hannibalcreative.tumblr.com/)'s [#ThePumpkinIsPeople](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/HanniCreative_ThePumpkinIsPeople). As with the other fics in this series, this work is complete; chapter two will post tomorrow.
> 
> Many thanks to [Llewcie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie/works) for betaing this, as well as encouraging my sin and general filth. <3

_Monsters exist because they are part of the divine plan, and in the horrible features of those same monsters the power of the creator is revealed._

_\--Umberto Eco_

 

Will wasn’t sure how long he and Hannibal stayed in the nest. When Hannibal began Feeding, the stars were twinkling above them, gleaming specks in the darkness. Upon waking, it was still dark, and there were still stars. Hannibal was speaking, but it took Will several full minutes to begin to comprehend what was being said.

“You do not understand all that you are to me,” were the first words Will made out, Hannibal holding him close, wiping the sweat from Will’s brow. “Wendigo are solitary by necessity, but that does not mean we do not long for companionship.” He slicked back Will’s curls, smoothed them away from his face. “We are beasts; to mate is within our nature, whether practical or not.”

“Are you calling me your mate, Dr. Lecter?” asked Will, smirking. His eyes remained closed, too exhausted to keep them open. The Feeding was ever-present now, an electric hum in his veins, even when Hannibal wasn’t actively drawing from him--a consequence of being Fed upon so often over a short period of time, but one that would dissipate with time. Will didn’t want it to end, at all. “Do I need to be worried about strange biology? Beyond being Fed upon, of course.”

Hannibal chuckled and said, “No,” then scooped Will up and off the bed. “But our children do miss you.”

Will spluttered and snorted all the way downstairs. Hannibal made them breakfast, and then settled on the living room floor afterward, Ceph and Francas grateful to see their favorite human while Hannibal built a fire.

“Seriously, though,” Will began, tugging at one end to the belt to his robe as Ceph tugged at the other, “you always choose your words carefully. There’s a reason you specifically used ‘mate’.”

“It seemed the most accurate term to use,” said Hannibal, “just as I told you over breakfast.”

“I didn’t buy it then, and I’m not buying it now.” Ceph gave one last, valiant effort, then dropped the end of the belt, trotting back to sit between Francas’ paws. Will sighed and pulled his robe around him. “I’m still not judging, but I...Hannibal, if I can give you my body, then you can give me your mind.”

Hannibal looked over at Will, face inscrutable but eyes glittering. “Partnerships do not grant permanence. Marriage is dissoluble. To mate is instinctual. A choice made by chemicals beyond human definition, by time, by stars. It is impossible to mate without leaving a mark, indelible or otherwise.”

There was nothing Will could say to match up with Hannibal’s words, so he held his hands out to Hannibal, instead, and Hannibal came to him immediately. He knelt and took Will’s hands, claimed his lips, slow and sweet.

“Instinct, huh?” Will asked when the kiss broke, when Hannibal rearranged them in front of the fire.

“I am drawn to you like the tide to the moon,” he said, loosening Will’s robe from behind him, baring Will’s shoulders to his touch. “If that is not instinct, then it has been redefined.” Hannibal’s lips hovered over his skin. “One week. Your body, mine. The terms, yours.”

“I trust you, Hannibal,” and then, surrounded by all of his pack, Will was Fed from again.

 

* * *

 

Will remembers the week in flashes of light, like living in the swing of his own pendulum, moments of clarity in the midst of abundant pleasure. He was fed and washed, doted on to the point of near embarrassment.

He hadn’t wanted any of the marks healed, Will recalls. “Do-- _mmm,_ you have to do that?” he asked at one point. Hannibal’s hand remained steady on his back, fingers palpating some spots, circling others.

“Much longer and I won’t be able to, at all.”

Will whined. “Maybe I don-- _oh,_ that’s...that feels better.”

“See?” Hannibal spoke to him softly in languages Will wouldn’t understand even if he _was_ fully aware, and then eventually only hummed until Will stilled completely, breath slow. “I promised you I would not hurt you beyond my own capability to repair,” said Hannibal, lips brushing against the shell of Will’s ear. “I keep my promises, especially where you are concerned.”

He might have said more, but Will can’t recall words, only the night closing in around him, safe and warm.

“How long has it been?” Will asked another time, weak and trembling in Hannibal’s arms. A wet cloth was brought to his lips--the water was cool in his mouth, refreshing, although Will felt like he would freeze. But Hannibal seemed determined to dampen Will’s dry lips and tongue, so Will obediently let him.

“Four days,” said Hannibal, and he sounded tired, himself. “How are you holding up, love?”

“Dangerously close to feeling too good, I think.” He chased the washcloth with his mouth when Hannibal took it away, made small noises of complaint, complained louder when Hannibal began to dress him. “What’re you doing?”

“We need rest,” Hannibal explained, “both of us, but particularly you.”

Will knew he was right, but that didn’t stop him from feeling needy. “Don’t stop touching me?”

“I dress you because I _want_ to keep touching you.” Will acquiesced, sinking back into the strange oblivion Hannibal kept him in. He remembered being gathered against Hannibal’s chest, the sigh Hannibal made as Will nuzzled into the fur on his chest, and then the darkness swallowed him back up.

There are vague memories that stir up arousal even now, of coming back to his senses as Hannibal explored his body--curious fingers running up and down his cock; a thumb pressed firmly against Will’s perineum; gasping his way into consciousness as he climaxed, Hannibal looking down at him with an expression of awe as he sucked Will’s cum off of his fingers. He likes it more than he thought he would, being permissibly played with unaware. There’s no pressure to perform as he “ought” to, coupled with the knowledge that his partner is as pleased as he is.

Once, when Will woke with Hannibal’s lips on his, slipping his tongue into Will’s mouth to coax him back to life, Will remembers whispering, “Mate?”

Hannibal stopped. He pulled back, held Will’s head between his hands, kissed the corners of Will’s eyes until they opened. “Say that again,” Hannibal said, _“please,_ say that again.”

It was a struggle to stay present with him, but Will repeated, “Mate.”

And Hannibal had openly cried, murmuring, “Yes, darling. Yes. Mate.”

Will smiled, letting his eyes slip closed again, though he felt more coherent now. “Kiss?” he asked, and Hannibal was on him immediately, hungrily, plundering and devouring until Will’s blood _sang_ with it, until his breath was stolen from his lungs, leaving him gasping for air when Hannibal released his lips.

“Again,” Hannibal said, voice raspy. He nuzzled into Will’s neck, rubbed his cheek against Will’s face, as if marking him. But Will’s brain was becoming fuzzy around the edges again. He wondered if this is how animals felt in the spring, this odd unfulfillable need to touch and be touched, or if it was unique to the wendigo, and most simply went without.

“Lonely,” observed Will, lost in a cloud of pheromones.

“You?”

“You.”

Hannibal combed his fingers through Will’s hair, and Will moaned at the contact. “I was,” Hannibal replied, “until you. Until you rescued me.” Another kiss, gentler, but every time their skin met sent sparks flying along Will’s nerves. “Are you lost, little one?” Will thought that he should be annoyed, being talked to like a child, but it only felt comforting. Besides, he _was_ feeling lost.

“Yeah. Tired.” He yawned, then asked, “What’s happening?” It took tremendous effort to make more than a single word at a time.

“I am uncertain. While some lore is...imprinted during the first shift, there is still much I do not know.” Will tried to hang onto his words, but it was so difficult when Hannibal was touching him as though afraid Will would disappear, or else wasn’t real. “Perhaps I have Fed from you too much.” Very quietly, Hannibal added, “I worry that I have harmed you.”

“Changed,” said Will. He opened his eyes, saw how his words made Hannibal’s face light up. “Love,” and Will yawned again. His vision swam, and he clutched at Hannibal. “Mate?”

Will was wrapped snugly in a blanket, and the last word he heard was Hannibal’s reply. “Mine.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

It took Will several weeks to recover from being Fed upon for so long, but Hannibal made his second convalescence enjoyable. This time, he even took Will outside, though he refused to let him walk, which Will supposes was for the best. He couldn’t even  _ feel _ his legs for the first few days as he slowly came out of the fog; moving of his own accord would have been impossible.

Eventually, though, Will begins to miss Ripper. After the Feeding, his and Hannibal’s bond is closer than ever, a feat Will never thought was possible. As much as he knows that he  _ can _ ask Hannibal to shift, Will doesn’t want to. He wants Hannibal to make the decision of his own accord--out of trust, not request. So Will waits, and enjoys the time spent with Hannibal out in the sunshine, instead.

He’s finally up and moving around on his own two feet about a month after the week-long Feeding. Will kisses Hannibal before heading out with the Francas and Ceph, fully intending to spend the day at the stream alone with “their children” as Hannibal keeps calling them. Another surprise, that he would turn out to be one of  _ those _ pet owners. Then again, maybe it’s simply one more of the wendigo traits bleeding through into Hannibal’s person suit.

Will teased him before he left this morning, asked if he wanted to teach the dogs how to call Will “mother”. Hannibal had blushed from neck to ears, then excused himself to the kitchen, wishing Will a good day.

So when Hannibal shows up at the stream around noon, Will is shocked. “I thought you were staying home.”

“I brought lunch,” Hannibal explains. “Nothing fancy.”

“That’s the least believable thing you’ve ever said to me.” For good measure, Will adds, “Mate.” He grins as crimson creeps back into Hannibal’s cheeks. “We haven’t talked about that, you know.”

Hannibal looks at the basket in his hands; his knuckles are white around the handles. “I know. I dislike not having all of the information before a discussion.”

Will grunts as he sits down on the exposed root of a tree. “So how do we get all of the information?”

“You won’t like the solution…” Hannibal licks his lips. “...Will.”

“That isn’t what you wanted to say, is it?”

Hannibal still won’t meet his eyes. “No.”

Smiling, Will holds his hands out to Hannibal, knowing he’ll see. Sure enough, Hannibal puts down the basket, sits down beside Will, and links their fingers together. “You’ve never called me ‘mate’, even though it’s your own word. Why?”

“I find it strange that you are adjusting to this shift in our relationship with more ease than I. With grace, even.”

“Hannibal--”

“I will be a good provider,” says Hannibal. The words rush out and trip over each other; combined with the blush, it makes him appear adorable, impossibly young. Will is enchanted. “I--I will care for you. For our ch--dogs. Our animals.” He clears his throat. “Yes.”

Will shakes with the effort it takes not to laugh. “You’ve never been flustered as long as I’ve known you.”

“I am not ‘flustered.’”

“Sure you aren’t.”

“It...the word--the concept--of you as my…” Hannibal unweaves their fingers, holding Will’s hands as any gentleman would hold his intended’s. He looks at Will, finally, and continues, “As my mate. I find it physically arousing, which confuses me. It is not you, per se, but the idea. Still, however.” Hannibal swallows, looking down at their joined hands again. “I thought I knew myself, but it would appear that I do not.”

Will bends and twists so that he can find Hannibal’s face. “This isn’t still about you getting me off, is it?”

“I do bear some guilt about that, even now,” Hannibal says. The lines around his eyes crinkle in an aborted wince.

“And I keep telling you that I gave you permission to,” says Will. He bites his lip, but maintains eye contact, as hard as it is to do so. “I enjoyed it, too, you know.”

Hannibal blinks. “You hadn’t said.”

“Well,” and Will and Hannibal sit up together. “I’m saying it now. I liked waking up to you playing with me as you pleased, as I’d asked for. Coming out of one glow and into another. Watching you lick the taste of me off of your fingertips. Wouldn’t mind waking up that way more often, actually.”

“I would not want you to feel compelled to reciprocate.”

“Is that even something you would want?”

“No,” admits Hannibal. “Neither one of us would find that enjoyable.”

Will moves over to sit next to Hannibal on the other root. It’s awkward, maneuvering without dropping hands, but not impossible. “So I like you giving me a hand, and so do you, and neither one of us wants me to play with your cock. No problems, then.”

“I suppose not.” He looks at Will from the corner of his eyes, one corner of his mouth twitching into a grin. “Mate,” he says carefully, cautiously, like he’s testing the way it feels on his tongue.

“Good.” Will squeezes Hannibal knee.

“I still need to know precisely what’s happening between us. To us.”

“Oh. There’s more to it?”

“That is what I want to find out,” says Hannibal, “and to do that, we will need to consult Bedelia.”

“...Oh.”

“She is the oldest wendigo of which I am aware. There is no avoiding it.” Hannibal covers Will’s hand on his knee with his own. “But I knew you would disapprove.”

“It’s not so much that I disapprove as much as I’m not sure I’m ready to kill her afterward,” Will explains matter-of-factly. “I think I should have a few hunts under my belt first, don’t you?”

“Darling,” says Hannibal, face flushed, but not blushing. “Anything for my mate.”

Will giggles, but reigns it in quickly. “Excellent. So...lunch now, hunt later?”

Tucking a stray curl behind Will’s ear, Hannibal kisses him in lieu of outright agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter tomorrow! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, _Smutsterpiece Theatre_ presents...

Hannibal doesn’t take Will hunting that night, but only because they have yet to pinpoint a target. The nearby village--

“You still haven’t told me where we are, you know,” Will reminded him over dinner, a simple affair of steak and kidney pie and roast vegetables. It was strange, having two single-course meals in the same day, but Will was immensely appreciative.

Hannibal only smiled behind his glass of Bordeaux.

\--consisted entirely of friendly, polite, upright individuals, if Hannibal was to be believed. Strangely enough, Will was inclined to believe him. The more he lets Hannibal Feed from him, the more Will feels like he understands the way Hannibal thinks. At times, it seems as though they are sharing emotions back and forth, or experiences, like how Hannibal shared the feeling of Will’s orgasmic energy with him.

One more thing to ask Bedelia, when Will’s ready to face her. But he needs practice, needs to learn how to not only hunt, but how to Hunt like the wendigo.

“I don’t understand,” Hannibal admits as they settle in with the dogs in the living room after dinner. He stretches out his hand to Will to pull him into his lap; Hannibal scents him immediately, breathing in all the way up Will’s neck, behind his ear, into Will’s hair, still damp from the shower. “You smell divine,” he says, beginning to untie Will’s bathrobe.

“That’s part of it,” says Will. He leans his head back onto Hannibal’s shoulder, turning his face into Hannibal’s neck, relaxing. “I hunt like a human--like _other_ humans, like what I’ve picked up from murderers. You hunt like a monster,” and Will closes his eyes. He mouths at Hannibal’s neck, a mimicry of what Hannibal does to him every night when he Feeds. Hannibal sighs, tilting his head to give Will greater access, and Will takes advantage of it. He scrapes his teeth against Hannibal’s skin, bites and sucks and licks. As Hannibal grows hard against him, Will says, “I want to be a monster, too.”

Hannibal growls, and the dogs run out of the room. Will is tossed to the floor, laughing, smiling; Hannibal looms over him, lips drawn to reveal his teeth, though they seem more like fangs now, sharp and crooked and deadly. The fire on the hearth roars, burning brighter and hotter, then snuffs out with a gust of wind, until the only light in the room comes from the moon through the skylight above.

The transformation starts slowly. First are the antlers, sprouting from Hannibal’s head. They’re more like horns as they emerge, but soon begin to grow branches, ashen and gray. Will wonders what they’ll look like, dripping blood and viscera, swiping the gore from the tips, feeding it to Will raw. His cock twitches against his thigh just thinking about it.

“Jesus, Hannibal,” Will says, watching Hannibal’s pupils swallow his irises, swirl into the whites of his eyes. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Hannibal tilts his face up to look at the sky, hissing through his teeth. “It--this is new, I--” He gasps as the bones in his hands break, elongating his fingers. Claws push through from beneath Hannibal’s nail beds. “I don’t understand--” An unearthly howl rips out of his throat as his skin loses its color. “What--what’s happening to me?”

Will wants to comfort him, but he’s fairly confused himself. The fire’s blown out, but Will feels like he’s burning all over. It’s stinging pain like he’s never experienced, hot iron over every inch of his skin. At the same time, he’s more aroused than he’s ever been in his entire life. Not once has Will ever desired to be fucked; right now, it’s all he can think about, how empty he is, how loose and open.

He grits his teeth, holds back a moan, and reaches for Hannibal’s hands. The claws scrape his palms, but all it does is stoke his arousal. “Still with me?” Will asks.

“Yes,” Hannibal says. His head hangs heavy over Will’s body, and he pants as though all he’s done for days is run. “I--Will, I need, don’t want to ask, want to _take,”_ and Hannibal begins to babble, “want you, _need_ you, need, mine, _mate.”_

Will strokes the backs of Hannibal’s hands, shushes him. Hannibal groans, raising his eyes to meet Will’s. They’re glowing gold, and Will _keens_ at the sight, a wild noise like nothing he’s ever made, and he aches, needs to be full and filled and--

“Hannibal,” Will mumbles. “Hannibal, what’s happening?”

“Darling,” and Hannibal is shaking with the effort to keep himself reigned in, “please, I can’t--can’t hold back much longer, tell me it’s alright, tell me I can take you, and if it isn’t, then please, _run.”_

Will takes a deep breath. “No, look at m--Hannibal.” He grabs the sides of Hannibal’s face, watches the tug of war between gold and silver in his eyes. “We don’t know why, but we both need this, okay? I’m yours. Let’s see this through, whatever it is.”

“I refuse to force--”

_“Fuck me, Hannibal.”_

And Hannibal’s on him in an instant, flipping him onto his stomach. Will doesn’t even have time to get his bearings before Hannibal hooks his arms beneath Will’s thighs and lifts his hips into the air. Hannibal’s hands grab his ass cheeks and force them apart, claws scratching hard enough to draw blood. It doesn’t even register as pain to Will; in fact, the smell of blood in the air only serves to heighten his frenzy.

Will doesn’t expect the rasp of a rough tongue on his skin, chasing up the trail of blood. Hannibal finishes cleaning up the blood, and then bites hard into the meat of one cheek. He worries it with his teeth, sucks on it until Will feels the blood start to flow there, too. Will squirms and moans as Hannibal keeps going, biting him again and again until Will’s sure he looks mauled. The idea alone makes his cock drip onto the rug.

His hole clenches around nothing, and Will’s rutting into the air, and Hannibal’s tongue is rubbing his wounds raw. Will swears he’s licking the skin off, and that shouldn’t be hot in the slightest, but it makes Will think about the night on the cliff, of Hannibal tearing out Dolarhyde’s throat and the way the Dragon’s blood had spilled warm and soothing over Will’s hands.

Then Hannibal’s tongue passes over Will’s asshole, and Will stops thinking completely.

He’s never had anything in his ass; Will hasn’t even reached the suggested age for prostate exams. But now Hannibal’s tongue is fucking in and out of Will’s hole, sloppy and wet and good, and Will wants nothing more but to push back into Hannibal’s face. Until position allows, Will is perfectly fine with yelling himself hoarse.

“Sweet,” says Hannibal, pulling back briefly to lap stripes over Will’s hole again. “Sweet mate,” and he dips his tongue back inside, strokes along the muscles over and over. Hannibal seals his mouth over Will’s hole and sucks, making the most endearing little noises, like Will’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Meanwhile, Will is dripping sweat and has been reduced to punched-out grunts. There’s a crawling itch under his skin and, as wonderful as Hannibal’s tongue and mouth feel, it’s not satisfying. Will can’t put words together and, as far as he can tell, his brain is trying to melt out through his ears. He wants to struggle, but he has no strength, like Hannibal’s been Feeding on him for hours already. This isn’t Feeding, however; if it were, Will would have felt some kind of relief by now. His cock is dribbling precum, and his balls hurt, and he would love to come. Above that urge is the desperate longing to be _full,_ to be _tied,_ and Will has no idea by _what._

“M--m--mate,” Will squeaks out, but Hannibal can’t hear him, too lost in Will’s taste. “Mate?” he tries again, still to no avail, and Will feels faint, is burning from the inside out. There aren’t two usable cells in his brain to rub together, and he’s limp and slack in Hannibal’s arms, which is apparently the signal Hannibal’s been waiting for.

Hannibal tears himself away for Will’s hole, practically drops Will’s legs, then rolls him back over. It’s instinct that drives Will to maneuver his legs back up to wrap around Hannibal’s waist. He arches his back slightly as Hannibal lines up his cock and slides home.

 _“Alpha!”_ Will cries, because that’s it, this is what he needed, Hannibal snapping his hips over and over, cock driving into Will’s prostate again and again until Will’s coming over his stomach and up his chest. He’s too surprised to make a sound, but not so surprised that he doesn’t notice his cock beginning to harden again. It doesn’t ease the oversensitivity, but it does prolong the pleasure as Hannibal continues to piston into him. “Alpha,” he says again, voice weak, and Will has no idea what that word means, but it seems to make him feel better to say it.

Will comes again within minutes, and a third time a few minutes after that. His organs feel much less molten now, and Will’s able to focus enough to see clearly.

Hannibal’s face takes his breath away.

That same deep gray color of the wendigo’s antlers have bled down into Hannibal’s face, but he still bears his own features, not the stone monument look of the wendigo. In fact, apart from the ash and the antlers, Hannibal is still Hannibal. His body is thick and strong; he remains clothed, though the clothes are in tatters from Hannibal’s impatient claws; his lips retain function, a litany of “mine” and “mate” falling from them, his mouth and chin glistening in the moonlight.

Their eyes lock, and Will comes again. There’s hardly anything left, just a single, thin stripe of cum that goes no further than Will’s navel. He’s completely drained, but he can almost think again. Hannibal’s hips are stuttering as he loses rhythm, and he’s smiling down at Will like he’s something precious and pure.

“Alpha,” Will whispers, and Hannibal falls forward on top of him as he comes, pumping Will full of his cum. There’s no physiological reason for it, as far as Will knows, but he still comes one final time. Hannibal doesn’t miss a beat, latching his mouth over Will’s heart, and beginning to Feed. Will shivers pleasantly beneath him, summoning enough energy to reach up and touch Hannibal’s antlers, running his fingertips along the cool bone.

Hannibal comes again, biting into the flesh over Will’s breastbone. If Will didn’t know better, he would think that Hannibal actually tore off a morsel. A not-so-small part of him wishes Hannibal had.

Will caresses Hannibal’s antlers as long as he’s able to keep his hands up, but by then they’re shrinking back into Hannibal’s head, the color is returning to his skin, and Will is too sleepy and satisfied to keep his eyes open any longer. After Hannibal’s had his fill, he begins checking over Will and healing his injuries. For some reason, it tickles, and Will grins, wriggling under Hannibal’s weight.

He kisses Will’s cheek, leaving it tingly and warm. “Have you recovered enough to speak?”

“Mmm. What happened?”

Hannibal gingerly pulls out of Will, rolling them to where Will lies on top. Cum leaks out of Will, and he grimaces, though he’s soon distracted by Hannibal’s gentle hands on his sore ass. “I have never experienced a partial shift before,” Hannibal says, using the bathrobe to clean Will up as best he can before returning to his careful examination of Will’s backside. “Your body seemed affected, as well. If you insist on practice hunts before we visit Bedelia, then we should begin looking for one quickly.”

Will yawns before saying, “Alpha.”

“I wish I knew what that meant and why it affects me so.”

“Mate?”

Hannibal holds him close, adjusting them so that they lie on their sides, nestled together, both too tired to make it to the nest. The fire begins to rekindle itself, and Will falls asleep before Hannibal can answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's bound to be more--this is incredibly fun to write, and I'm having a blast with the worldbuilding and trope subversion--but it probably won't be until some time in December. Stay tuned for part five. Consider it a possible holiday present. :D

**Author's Note:**

> [[about me](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/about)] [[tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/)] [[twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan)]
> 
> I also have a [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/shiphitsthefan/ficash-antlers/) for this series if you're interested in that sort of thing.
> 
> Kudos and comments validate my existence. <3


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